


Something to Hold When I Lose My Grip

by LadyKnightOfHollyrose



Series: Short-cuts to Happiness [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballroom Dancing, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Slash, Russia - mentioned, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightOfHollyrose/pseuds/LadyKnightOfHollyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all going rather surprisingly – suspiciously – well. Then they take a five minute break and Yao decides to open his mouth.</p>
<p>(Arthur spends their next three sessions attempting to tell if Yao is actively trying to rile him up of if it’s just instinctual.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Hold When I Lose My Grip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smuttyandabsurd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday present for the lovely WhiteWings/aroundthecoffeepot/smuttyandabsurd <3
> 
> It leads on directly after The Lives You Love to Lead, which you may want to read for context.

It's a damn good thing that Arthur arrives at the studio ten minutes early, as he uses those ten minutes to sit in his car, wringing his hands as his brain gives him an involuntary play-by-play of the... spectacle that he'd been a part of the last time he'd been there.

And his brain takes no pity on him, electing to ignore the detail that he hadn't been the only one to blame for the disagreement that had soon escalated in volume and had caused him to storm out and not return for the next several days.

Arthur sighs. Then, screwing up the rest of the drabs of pride he has left, he shoves it into a box and drags himself out of the car.

He tries to ignore the feeling of eyes on him as he finally enters the dance studio, heat crawling up the back of his neck in embarrassment. When he looks around, though, no one seems to be paying him any mind.

Taking one last, fortifying breath Arthur strides straight into the room that he’s expected in.

Their greetings are as awkward as one might expect, and Arthur can’t help the almost reflexive resentment he feels for Yao because he’s made somewhere that had always been a place of contentment for him to one that made him ill at ease.

Still, he pushes the feeling away, smothers it so that it can’t cloud his mind.

Because regardless of whether he likes Yao or not, he’s Arthur’s best shot.

As it turns out, when he’s not being condescending, Yao is actually a good lead and a decent teacher.

They start from the top, Arthur attempting to position himself so that his frame mirrors the way his partners usually hold themselves. Yao makes a few adjustments, and then tests his stability.

(If there is one thing that Arthur has always prided himself on, it’s his stability. He likes to think it comes with being as stubborn as he is.)

Still, he has to make a concerted effort not to become over-resistant, though once his body becomes accustomed to the new stance he finds himself being led around the room more fluidly than he could have imagined.

(This isn’t to say that he doesn’t get things wrong. Because he most certainly does. But Yao has a lot more patience than Arthur would have ever given him credit for, working on Arthur’s footwork as he gets a feel for the slightly altered rhythm and direction of movement.)

It’s all going rather surprisingly –  _suspiciously_  – well. Then they take a five minute break and Yao decides to open his mouth.

(Arthur spends their next three sessions attempting to tell if Yao is actively trying to rile him up of if it’s just instinctual.)

\---

Begrudgingly, Arthur surrenders his schedule so that they can arrange for time in the studio to practice.

Rehearsals are gruelling; Arthur first has to learn a choreography that wasn’t designed with him in mind, and then perfect his performance to Yao’s standards, all while finding his feet as the follow. Yao’s patience runs thin fairly early in the process, making him prone to snapping if Arthur missteps.

Footwork is practised in a format not unlike drills, and Arthur begins to think of it all as military training with the way that Yao barks at him to run through it ‘another time, go!’

(‘Why don’t you run through it once more,’ Arthur snarls one time as his arms ache and his feet start to drag.

And Yao does. He’s completely insufferable as he nudges Arthur out of the way and takes position but Arthur can’t help but catalogue his every move once he gets started.

Arthur’s next run-through is slightly smoother. For once, Yao is tactful not to say anything of it.)

And for all that Yao is the best dancer from their studio, it doesn't mean that he doesn't make any mistakes either. He just rarely ever (if one were being charitable, which Arthur usually isn't) admits it.

It takes a few sessions for them to really start syncing up, for their thoughts to start aligning.

They still bicker – and Arthur feels like there will never be a time where they don’t – but it doesn't interfere with their steps or stem the flow of their movements.

(Except for the odd occasion when Arthur is feeling particularly vengeful and purposefully steps on Yao’s feet.)

He’s not sure how it happens, but one sweltering afternoon as they reconvene after a short break to hydrate themselves, Arthur feels something fall into place.

Jaw set in mulish determination, he badgers Yao until he huffs in resignation, sets the music and takes Arthur’s hand into his own.

Arthur can feel his heart thumping against his ribs as he waits for the first trickle of sound from the stereo.

When they step forward, it’s as one, and they glide across the floor with a fluid grace and cohesion that had eluded them completely up to this point. He feels Yao’s chest swell with breath just as he breathes in, hears the exhale as he lets his breath go. It’s almost like Yao is an extension of himself, the way his body shifts to accommodate Arthur’s, and guides him in patterns across the floor.

For once in a long while, Arthur doesn't have to think every time he puts his foot forward.

The creases that have been a constant mark of his concentration fade from his forehead, and the tension drains from his shoulders. His teeth release the grip they’ve kept on his lower lip, colour rises high on his cheeks and Arthur  _grins_.

The grip on his hand clamps down as they turn, and when Arthur catches Yao's eye, his partner's breath seems to stutter.

Then he's being spun around and guided into a dip, lean arms with surprising strength holding him afloat for a moment. For two.

And then he's falling to the floor, Yao blinking down at him as sweat beads on his forehead and his brows furrow in confusion.

"... Don't even  _try_  to pretend that one wasn't your fault," he finds himself snapping as he picks himself up, trying not to remember the thrill that had shot through him when he'd met Yao's eyes while suspended in his arms.

\--

"You're too tense."

Arthur throws a scowl over his shoulder in the direction of Yao's voice where the other is stretching his hamstrings.

"Yes, thank you for that extremely useful observation that has clearly calmed me  _right_  down."

Yao just looks at him with one brow raised, his hair falling into clear eyes. (His composure only causes Arthur's muscles lock up further.)

"I think I have  _reason_  to be nervous, don't you?" Arthur can't help the way his shoulders hunch defensively under the weight of Yao's stare. "Shouldn't you be even more worried since you've been lumbered with me?"

Yao's gaze doesn't waver, but Arthur finds himself looking away. It's not a matter  of doubting himself, but Arthur prides himself in being a realist. And the truth is, if Yao were here with his  _old_  partner he'd have a much better shot of winning than he does with  _Arthur_.

Yao stares him down levelly, considering. And then he comes up with, "would a cup of tea help?"

Arthur gapes at him. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't  _actually_  think that tea is the answer to everything." He pauses. "Where would you even ge-"

He hadn't thought his jaw could drop any lower, but it does. Arthur's eyes feel ready to roll right out of his scull when Yao places one hand on his hip and raises one of his arms up.

His face is stony as he intones, "Here is my handle, here is my spout."

Arthur stares. Then he snorts, because really, how else is he supposed to react?

Yao smirks to himself as Arthur attempts to contain his snickering, watching the stiffness drain from Arthur's frame and the light return to his eyes. 

They'll be fine.

\--

_Yao follows behind Antonio as he leads the way, his attention trickling away from Antonio's prattle in his preoccupation with the worry that has been gnawing at his gut constantly for the last week._

_Because even as he dons a mask of calm, he can acknowledge how big a blow the loss of his partner is to himself at least._

_He supposes he should be glad that he has enough time to even entertain the possibility of finding another dancer to accompany him - Ivan's injury had come to light early enough for them to prevent any further damage to his knee, and also, thankfully, while they had still been putting together their choreography._

_Still. Yao has danced with Ivan as his partner_  years _, and the sort of awareness and instinct that had come with that, that_  chemistry  _can't just be cooked up overnight._  Especially  _with a complete stranger._

_The studio that they step into is still in use, Antonio says as they cross the threshold. Lovino is teaching one of the younger classes, apparently, and they have about ten minutes before their session ends and the one Yao's here to observe begins._

_There's another man there who doesn't seem to be part of the class, carefully stretching out his muscles in the far corner of the room with a quiet intensity in his eyes. Yao watches as he makes sure to thoroughly warm up before settling to a side to watch Lovino prompt his class into their last run through of the evening._

_Lovino doesn't get far._

_Knowing that his tolerance stretches far enough to cover his students (and members of the fairer sex), Lovino's class cajole him into one last demonstration of the piece, roping in the innocent bystander who had been observing the events unfolding with wry amusement up until that point._

_Even now, as the students needle him ("come on, we know you've had to learn this choreography before!"), his lips twitch up in the barest of smiles before conceding in a very put-upon manner._

_He rolls to his feet_   _and throws a grin over to Lovino. "Ready?"_

_Yao can't help the brow that climbs his forehead when instead of scowling, Lovino just smirks back as he takes his position opposite his blond haired partner. "Yeah, just try to keep up will you?"_

_Antonio hums quietly next to Yao. "I don't think he and Arthur have danced together for a while."_

_The music starts, and they begin to move._

_With one hand reaching the nape of Arthur's neck, Lovino has the other resting on the small of his own back, his palm facing outwards. Arthur mirrors the position, and as the two of them gaze steadily into the other's eyes as they circle once, twice, before Lovino steps out and away from the hold. Arthur slips his fingers around Lovino's wrist and spins the other back into his chest in a deft movement that has the students murmuring appreciatively at them. They pause for a moment, timed to a break in the music, and for a moment they're so still that they could be made of marble._

_And then they spring back to life, almost marching forward in time to the beat with Lovino still tucked somewhat against Arthur's chest until he's spun out and twirled until they are face to face once more, hands linked in front of them as they twist their hips and kick up their legs with a synchronised, controlled grace seems effortless._

_Their posture and frames hold true, a strength running through their sinewy muscles that speaks of power while still allowing buoyancy of movement. And it's this that catches Yao's eye, that has his breath catching in the back of his throat._

_He doesn't know if there's a way to describe it, other than to say that the way that Arthur dances has_  texture _. There's a sharp precision that speaks of relentless practice, a fire in his expression that seems to flare at the very tips of his fingers, pouring his passion into his every move. But there's also grace, and flexibility, and  a sense of_ freedom _that is so apparent that Yao_  knows _._

_"Antonio._  Him _. It has to be him."_


End file.
